


Command and obey

by Jarakrisafis



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Multi, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-16
Updated: 2013-04-16
Packaged: 2017-12-08 17:25:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/764031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jarakrisafis/pseuds/Jarakrisafis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dumping ground for a few unrelated one-shots on the same theme</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I was looking for some slavefic that didn't fall into the trope of enemy gets slave and suddenly A) twu love or B) huge amounts of darkness and pain. I couldn't really find any single faction stuff as opposed to the crossfaction tropes mentioned above so I went and wrote some.  
> (If anybody does indeed know any feel free to leave me a link, if I'm lucky I won't have read it before now and will have something new to read.)

Ratchet/Prowl  
Prowl's POV

* * *

I do not know who started the rumours. In fact I do not particularly care since knowing that will not stop them from persisting. Nor will it stop the suspicious glances towards me whenever I leave the safety of my office.

I tell myself it doesn't matter. Their opinions on the matter are unwanted and unsolicited, yet my refusal to answer one way or the other does nothing to quell the muttering and I feel... Irritated that I cannot deny the rumours.

I am unsurprised to find my Master waiting for me when I finally step into my quarters. He would feel remiss in his duties if he did not come to ensure that I am still functioning.

My coding flares at the first contact with his electromagnetic field as I approach him, tugging at me until I obey. I do not bother to fight it any longer. It is more efficient to let it dictate my actions until I have obeyed my directives and it once more is nothing more than a section of inconvenient coding written into my base code.

I sink to my knees, anticipating the hand that strokes over my helm behind my chevron, a gentle petting that my coding interprets as 'Master is pleased' and I duck my helm closer, resting it on one white thigh as my coding subsides. What was a conflicting array of parameters for what could be required is narrowed down into one by the rhythmic motion. Relax.

“Feeling better?”

“Yes Master.” I can feel his systems hitch for a brief moment, but he does not bother to try and correct me, even he has finally accepted that when we are alone my coding will insist on me using such a title.

“I'm sorry I didn't come and see you sooner.” He does not need to say more, he had patients he could not leave, their sparks more important than myself and my honour. “Do you want me to deny the rumours?”

“That would be appreciated.” I simply cannot deny such a thing, my coding will not allow me to say that I am not what I am.

“I'm heading to the rec room, I'll make sure the worst of them are around, if they want to argue with me they can, but I don't think they'll get far since I can pull the 'been in your coding' card.” He gently pushes my helm away so that he has room to get to his feet. He gives me one last pat on the helm before heading for the door, waiting until I am back on my feet before opening the door, just in case there is anybody wandering past.

And again I am thankful that the attack which took out my last owner kept me in stasis for a while, long enough that I had been found and brought to an Autobot medbay and it was to Ratchet that I onlined to. As a medic he has standards which I am not entirely sure I could have found in many of the Autobots.

I will not say that I appreciate the current situation, for that would be a lie, yet freedom is not something I can aspire to, not with the coding wound so deeply around my core functions. Only deactivation will free me. No. I don't _like_ this, but I am... Content. For there are far worse mechs I could be bound to.


	2. Chapter 2

Skywarp/Thundercracker  
Starscream POV

* * *

I wouldn't say it's easy to hide, but at least, within a trine it isn't glaringly obvious. Primus forbid what the groundbound would think if they knew. Not that we are ever going to tell them.

No, I've protected them both this far, covering up the signs which are there for the observant. _If_ they were looking for such signs. I doubt any of them are.

We've played this game for far too long. They see a brash, outspoken seeker who likes to be the centre of attention and a playful one who has never seemed to mature. They don't notice the third beyond the fact that he is quiet, stays out of trouble, is always reliable.

They never look any deeper. Why bother. That's how we want to keep it.

A soft whine escapes the seeker sprawled across the berth and I shake my helm as I look down at the pad on my desk, still blank, my processor drifting on the wind. I watch them for a moment as Skywarp digs his fingers into plating, slowly unkinking bent wires, the low buzz of comm chatter letting me know they are trying not to disturb me.

They are not what I expected for a trine, and at one point I would never have considered them. Truthfully, it was Megatron who ordered that I trine with them. A trine is meant to be balance, a triad, three who are one, we are not. Can never be. Yet it works. As unconventional as it is, we have made it work.

Still, it is a good thing the high born slag sucker who decided to experiment and see if slave coding would take in a seeker is already long rust. Otherwise he'd be begging for oblivion.

I smile as Thundercracker shifts, a contented expression gracing his faceplates as he twists round to nod agreement to something Skywarp asked, a soft “Yes Master” escaping him.

No. We're not nearly normal. But we're still the best.


End file.
